


Their Private Literature

by ausmac



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry loses his memory, Lucius supplies a new set.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Losing it

**Author's Note:**

> This was written prior to the final book and film, so it should be considered AU. I'd always wanted to write a semi-reclaimed Malfoy, without making the character totally unrealistic. I think this sort of worked, and it was fun to write.

He'd come through the door in a rush of power and noise, wand in hand, and Lucius' first thought had been: "Now here's the last person I expected to see come bursting through the door to rescue me." Not that it was likely Harry Potter would be interested in rescuing him, but it seemed an ideal segue in his situation, chained to the wall and naked as he was.  
  
As that thought reached its logical conclusion, Potter came to a sliding halt and rapidly surveyed the room.  
  
"Where's Sillangus!"  
  
"That's a relief," Lucius said as he leant back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "For a moment I thought you might be here to rescue me. I don't think I could have handled that."  
  
There was noise from outside; shouts, blasting, the crash of falling masonry. Potter was obviously about to leave and Lucius very much, despite his words, wanted to be rescued. "Fine, just what I'd expect from you. Leave me here to die. Very noble of you."  
  
He realised Potter hadn't really been thinking of him, obviously completely set as he was on finding Sillangus. The green eyes focused on him; he finally had Potter's attention.  
  
"Give me one reason."  
  
Cool, the voice was very cool, and Lucius dredged up the only possible response. "Because I know where Sillangus is?"  
  
A moment's hesitation, and Lucius could read the procession of logic behind it – was he lying? would he cause Potter problems? was he dangerous? was it worth the risk? – all flashing by in a moment or two before making a decision. Lucius watched as Potter stalked towards him, wand up, and he couldn't help flinching backwards. Repeated doses of Crucio tended to aggravate the nerves.  
  
"Don't worry, Malfoy," he said, as broke the chain from the wall with rather disturbing ease, "if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it from across the room. Now," he said, wrapping the end of the chain around his free hand, "take me to him – and assume I've used the usual threats if you give me trouble on the way."  
  
Potter moved towards the door, and Lucius had to follow or be dragged. "Do you think," he hissed, as Potter checked outside and down the hallway, "that I could put some clothes on at some stage?"  
  
"Cope with it. I've more important things to worry about. And shut up, will you, I need to concentrate!"  
  
Lucius ground his teeth together, but shut up. If it wasn't for the fact that he really wanted to live beyond the next short while, he would have told Potter to emasculate himself. He almost did, until common sense asserted itself. He let Potter drag him down the hall, bumping and scraping into walls, rubbing skin off his shins and more sensitive areas of his anatomy. They ducked into a room and almost fell over the body just inside. Lucius side-stepped it, paused, and reached down to reef off the corpse's robe. He was jerked backwards by a hard tug on the chain and swore.  
  
"Potter, if you keep doing that I'll shove the chain up your arse!" He struggled into the robe, winding the sleeves up and tying it around himself with the sash. It was ridiculously dirty and smelled of sweat and worse things, but he couldn't afford to be picky.  
  
Potter was looking outside, the chain still gripped firmly in his left hand, his wand in the other. After a few moments he turned towards Lucius, eyes narrowed. "Where is he, which way?"  
  
The truth was, Lucius had no idea where Sillangus - the leader of a radical and somewhat lunatic group of Voldemort worshipers - was; on his way off as rapidly as possible, if he had any sense. But it wouldn't do to tell Potter that. "Last time I saw him, it was in the central library, adoring Voldemort in effigy." That had been the day before, when Lucius had been taken there for interrogation and punishment. Still, no need to mention that, either. At the questioning arch of one eyebrow, Lucius pointed left down the hallway.  
  
Potter stepped out into the hallway at precisely the same moment as a thunderous explosion came from the floor above. The building shook and cracked and a fair bit of it landed on top of Harry Potter.  
  
When the dust cleared and the world settled, Lucius found himself sitting on the floor, covered in debris and dirt. Potter was lying a few feet away, partially covered by a section of broken ceiling. He was still in a way that suggested either death or unconsciousness.  
  
Lucius struggled to his feet, dragging the torn robes up around his knees, and prepared to head out. As he stepped around the broken ceiling sections he heard Potter groan and paused. There was blood on the pale face, and the fallen figure stirred, tried to rise and fell back.  
  
There were plenty of reasons to go – in the chaos he could slip out, sneak away, find safety. He would tell himself later that it was simple expedience, that Potter could be useful to him in some way or other. At the time, though, as he dragged the barely conscious Auror from under the rubble and half-dragged, half-carried him out through the broken remains of the house, he could only assume that he'd lost his mind.  
  
Somehow, Lucius managed to make it through a gap in a brick wall and out into the garden without being seen. No mean feat, considering he was dragging an unconscious Harry Potter. Normally that would have generated enough noise to bring a horde of curious Dark Wizards to the scene, but it seemed they were all busy elsewhere.  
  
Once beyond the rubble of broken brick, Lucius rested, panting with exhaustion. It was really too stupid trying to drag someone who weighed a whole lot more than appearances led one to believe. He really need a wand…  
  
Lucius swore and let Potter's body drop to the ground. He clambered back inside and groped around in the dimly lit hallway until his he felt the shape of Potter's wand wedged under a brick. At that moment he heard a sound and saw a black-robed figure moving down the cluttered hallway towards him.  
  
Not pausing to see who it was, Lucius turned and ran, stumbling, back out through the hole in the wall. He heard a shout and ducked instinctively. Something flew by him and impacted on the wall with a flash of light. Crack! Brick shattered and chips of stone struck his face, making sharp little cuts. He tumbled, falling, pain shooting through him as his elbows and knees and back struck the bricks scattered outside.  
  
He rolled again, coming up on his elbow, Potter's wand still in his hand and hurled the first aggressive magic that came to mind at the black-robed figure coming through the wall behind him.  
  
"Fulmenius!"  
  
The wand shook, sparks flew, pain arced up his arm; the wand fought him even as the lightning spell erupted. There was a flash, a scream and the unknown wizard exploded in a shower of light. The wand fractured, splitting down the middle.  
  
Lucius held on, cursing and sobbing as the pain faded. Of course, he should have known Potter's wand would hate him the way Potter did. Lucius ground his teeth together and held onto the wand until the pain faded and he could see again, and resisted a very natural urge the snap the bloody thing in half. How dare it bite him!  
  
"Oww…"  
  
He swung around, to see Potter sitting upright, hands clutched to his head. "What…where?"  
  
"No time for questions. Get up and get moving, unless you want to die here."  
  
The pale face turned towards him, and even in the gloom Lucius could read the confusion. "Who…are you?"  
  
"Come on, Potter, your timing is execrable. Does this look like the place for games?"  
  
"I don't…don't understand. I have a terrible headache. I don't remember…"  
  
"Fine, have it your way." Lucius dragged the robe around himself and, still gripping Potter's damaged wand, headed off towards the nearby woods. He had walked a short distance when he looked back and saw that Potter was still standing there, watching him. After a moment's sensible hesitation he walked back, grabbed Potter's arm, and began pulling him.  
  
"Come on – and if you give me trouble, I'll leave you behind!"

@~@~@~@

  
He woke with no idea of anything, other than the fact that he had the most awful headache in…well, it was bad. It might have been the worst ever, but since he couldn't remember anything, he couldn't tell.  
  
Just about everything hurt, and there was disconnected feeling, like parts of him were missing. He was a jigsaw person, put together wrong and nothing made sense.  
  
Then there was the stranger. He didn't know what to think of him, other than he looked angry, in a tall, blonde and attractive sort of way. Dressed in a dirty black robe thing tied with a sash and apparently nothing else, he didn't seem too friendly. Odd thing was, even so, the stranger insisted he follow him, away from some unidentified danger. If it wasn't for the headache, he probably would have had a few questions to ask.  
  
Like who he was. Where he was. What he was.  
  
There wasn't time, though, because he was dragged out into the unfamiliar night and followed because he couldn't really think of anything else to do.

@~@~@~@

  
It wasn't, Lucius found, that much fun running through a forest in the middle of the night with no shoes on. Every few yards he'd stumble into or onto something – and stubbed toes was too tame a term for the impact of unprotected toes on a giant tree root. Within five minutes he was hobbling and cursing and he guessed the dampness on his right instep was blood and not just a wet patch of grass. It hurt like hell, and only the need to keep quiet stopped him from groaning in pain.  
  
Half a dozen times he want to leave Potter behind, and each time he changed his mind. Lucius cursed his unwanted burden, if quietly, but continued to drag him along. Misery, it seemed, did indeed like company. And he might be useful. For something.  
  
Finally, he could go no further, and he sagged down in the dark, and rested his back against a tree. Potter dropped down next to him, sitting a little too close for Lucius's comfort, but he was too tired to do anything about it. A moment later he felt Potter turn to the side and there was the sound of retching – he didn't vomit, but it was a close thing, by the sound of it. He sagged back next to Lucius. "Feel sick, bad headache. Oh god, it hurts."  
  
Lucius knew little about injuries and medical conditions, but he knew head impact could be nasty. Nausea, bad headache, could mean concussion – and they had no handy mediwitch to fix it. Well, Lucius had experienced enough pain over the previous days that he couldn't really drag up much sympathy for Potter's head. But he was still unconvinced about the loss of memory.  
  
"So tell me again – you don't remember who I am?"  
  
Potter cleared his throat and Lucius could see, in the pale moonlight filtering down through the canopy, that he was wiping his face with the hem of his coat. "That's right. And you keep calling me Potter, so I assume that's my name, but it means nothing to me. I guess I have ..what do you call it? Oh yes, amnesia. And a headache, let's not forget the headache." He sighed, and placed one hand on his forehead. "So who are you? I assume we're friends, since you seem to be rescuing me."  
  
"The name's Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy. We're not friends, we're…"  
  
He paused, and reconsidered his instinctive response. "We're…close. Very close, in fact." Why tell him the truth, when it would serve no purpose but to make things more difficult. Truth was merely information best dealt out in moderation.  
  
There was no immediate response, and Lucius could see, even in the poor light, the wrinkle of a frown on Potter's forehead. "Are you sure, that doesn't seem…"  
  
"Of course I'm sure. As for your headache, if I hadn't, ah, lost, my damned wand, I'd try and do some healing spells for you. But even if yours wasn't broken, it didn't seem inclined to cooperate with me."  
  
"Wand? Spells? What are you talking about?"  
  
Lucius sighed. The middle of a forest in the middle of the night within range of some rather nasty characters was not the place to have that conversation. "I'll explain later. Now we need to get up and get going." He dug for something sympathetic to say. "I know your head hurts, but if we can get somewhere safe, you can rest and it will feel better. And no, I can't explain now why we're in danger but trust me, we are."  
  
"Alright, if you say so."  
  
In the middle of climbing to his feet, that caused him to pause. It was so bizarre – Harry Potter, agreeing with him. About anything. And obedient too, Lucius noticed, as Potter stood, and waited for him. There was something quite charming about that. I think I could get used to it, Lucius thought, and ignored the little warning voice that said the whole peculiar situation was bound to end badly.  
  
Lucius had no real idea where to go, or where they were, or even how large the woods were. He knew his general location, but not the precise one. He'd been taken there by force and held in a cell the entire time. Potter would have known, of course – if he was of sound mind – which he wasn't. Without magic or daylight to give him any hint of direction, he knew they could blundering around in circles, or worse, heading back towards the house.  
  
When the notion occurred to him, Lucius called a halt. "Time to rest. We'll wait till first light. We can't light a fire, so, well, that's just that." Lucius wrapped his arms inside the sleeves of the robe; the mist had risen, it was bitingly cold. He settled down gingerly next to a group of stunted bushes; everything was damp and dripping and Lucius knew he was in for another uncomfortable night. Although perhaps not as uncomfortable as some of late.  
  
"Are we stopping here?"

@~@~@~@

  
  
_My name is Harry Potter. Apparently. Means nothing but maybe if I think of myself as that, it will start to fit better._  
  
Lucius Malfoy looked up at him and even in the poor light Harry could see the man was annoyed. He had an irrelevant thought – wonder what he looks like smiling? – and then Lucius took hold of Harry's sleeve and pulled him down to sit.  
  
"Yes, Potter, we're stopping here. It's late, it's dark, and I don't want to fall down a cliff or break a bone in the night. We'll rest here until it gets light enough to see something."  
  
He might not know who he was, the name might still carry no echoes of the past, but Harry guessed that maybe Malfoy didn't know where they were, or where to go. He just didn't know for sure, though. He thought it was best not to annoy the only other resident of his nightmare, so he sat down on the cold, damp ground and shivered.  
  
He was tired, thirsty, a bit hungry, sore in far too many places, and the headache had only lessened, not gone away. His memory was still absent and that disturbed him the most. He didn't like not knowing things. On some instinctive level, he knew that ignorance was dangerous.  
  
Lucius wriggled next to him and lifted one arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. He stiffened, and Lucius turned to look at him but he couldn't read his expression in the growing darkness.  
  
"It's cold," Lucius said, sliding closer, "and if we can't make a fire, you can at least keep me warm."

@~@~@~@

  
_I'm snuggling Harry Potter. How unreal!_  
  
And snuggling was what it was; the robe was wrapped around them both, the only thing between Lucius's naked arse and the cold ground, with Lucius's chilled and otherwise naked body pressed against Potter. At that moment, with the night mists swirling through the trees, Lucius didn't give a damn who he was close to, so long as they were warm. And Potter was definitely warm.  
  
His hands felt like frozen bits of ice on the end of his arms, so he slid them inside Potter's coat. Harry jumped.  
  
"Hey! That's…cold, really, you know…" The complaints faded as Lucius, inspired by whatever devil it was that inhabited his psyche, slid his icy fingers inside Harry's shirt and pinched his nipples.  
  
"Umm, ouch. That's sort of…do I…do we…" Potter trembled, but didn't move away. "Are we...that way?"  
  
"No, idiot, I fondle total strangers. Of course we're 'that way'." In for a sickle, in for a galleon, Lucius thought, as he pressed closer. "You give the best head in the country. You don't remember that? I don't know how anyone could forget having my cock down their throat." Lucius took Harry's warm hand and slid it between his legs, curling the fingers around his hardening prick. "See, knows you well. Hand, mouth, arse, you're really well acquainted with each other."  
  
If it hadn't been for the danger and the cold and the damned peculiar situation, it would have been totally delicious. He loved being in control of things, people, of having the power in any given situation, and having Harry Potter helpless and dependent and – of all things – trusting, was definitely delicious.  
  
And it seemed his body liked it too, liked having that hand hesitantly pressed against his cock, the fingers instinctively curling around under his balls. He made a humming pleased sound and wondered how far he could push the situation. Lucius slipped around until his groin was pressed against Potter's bottom, and found he very much liked the feel of his prick pressed against that conveniently situated arse.  </i>Pity about the clothes in the way…</i>  
  
He slid his arms around Potter and pulled him backwards against his chest. Then and there wasn't the place, sadly, to investigate the possibilities. "Let's try and get a bit of sleep, shall we? Wrap that robe around yourself, try not to lie on me. We've got a lot of traveling to do in the morning."

@~@~@~@

  
Easier said than done. Having a stranger, a naked one at that, pressed up against his back with their legs wrapped around him, wasn't very conducive to sleep. And not for the most obvious reasons.  
  
The cold from the ground seeped through the robe and clothes and whenever he moved, he woke, and the same was probably true for Lucius. So they spent the night having brief naps, wriggling and shivering. Impossible to say, of course, but he rather thought it might have been one of his more awful nights. He'd vote on it later when he had comparisons.  
  
What disturbed him, though, was the memory of his hand on Malfoy's genitals. Not that it had happened, but how he hadn't pulled away in disgust, or something. On some level he'd liked touching the other man that way. He supposed that meant he was...what was the word…queer, that was it. All through the night, whenever Malfoy moved, Harry came awake, surprised, alarmed, even scared and he just didn't know what to do. Ignore it? Push him away? Turn around and find out just how good he could be at swallowing Lucius down to the balls? Did he always react that way to men? To sex? To either or both? Or only when he got banged on the head hard enough to forget who he was? Trying to follow the line of that reasoning just made the headache flare up again. It was better when he didn't try to think too hard, didn't try to remember. Ignorance wasn't bliss, but it was certainly more comfortable to live with.

@~@~@~@

  
Spending the night on the ground with only a robe between him and the cold, damp air did little to improve Lucius' mood. He woke in a foul temper, stiff and cold and dirty, and rolled over, pushing Potter away. As he straightened, Lucius stretched, then almost screamed as a ripple of pain ran along his right leg.. He shoved a hand in his mouth to muffle the noise, then froze as warm hands began manipulating the muscle.  
  
"Cramping? I remember how much it hurts. Wonder why that is? Anyhow, try and relax, I'll see if I can work it out."  
  
The picture was provocative; Harry Potter on his knees, massaging. It distracted him for a moment, but then the pain rippled up and down his leg in waves, like daggers in the flesh. He swore, and grabbed Potter's shoulder. "It fucking hurts!"  
  
"Yes, I know. Take your mind off it, think of something else." Potter moved and sat between Lucius' legs, continuing to massage, moving along the leg, above the knee and Lucius thought, well, it doesn't hurt there and then the warm hands were beneath his robe stroking the inside of his thigh and he was aroused faster than he had been since his misspent youth.  
  
Potter… _call him Harry, if we're being this cozy_ …was watching him, glasses askew, his black hair mussed and untidy, a smudge on his cheeks showing dark against the flush. The tip of his tongue was showing between his lips in an oddly boyish way that Lucius found engaging on a number of levels. He leant forward, meaning to say something clever like "Allow me to adjust my clothing," and instead found himself sucking on that tongue, savoring the mouth as it dropped open. His nostrils flared, taking in Harry's musky smell, feeling Potter's shocked shiver. It made him even harder. He loved that particular smell, the odour of healthy sweat, and even more loved the sense of power inherent in that shiver. He slid his tongue down to lick at the damp patch at the base of Harry's throat.  
  
"Is…it better?"  
  
"Mphph?"  
  
"The, umm, cramp. Better?"  
  
And when he emerged from lust, Lucius realised the pain had gone, like magic. "Yes, yes, better."  
  
Which seemed to be Harry's signal to move away, remove his hands from any part of Lucius' body and sit back with bright red spots on his cheeks, like a child caught stealing sweets.  
  
While the vile cramps had gone, other physical pains laid their claim; he was thirsty and hungry, and he had no idea where to find food or water. Food they could do without for a day or two, but water was a necessity. Being a forest, there logically had to be a stream or river in it somewhere. As if reading his mind, Potter had sat down beside him, studying his hands and rubbing absently at a patch of mud.  
  
"I'm thirsty. Is there water here somewhere?"  
  
"I have no idea."  
  
Harry looked up from his hand, and frowned. "Don't you know where we are?"  
  
"I know where we are, in general. We're in northern Italy in Lombardy, near the border of Switzerland, some distance from the city of Menaggio. Other than that, I have no idea." He spread a hand in a sweep. "In the woods, obviously."  
  
Harry was silent and Lucius studied him closely. "Do you remember something?"  
  
"Not precisely, but I seem to know that this area of the country has a lot of lakes, and rivers too. There has to be a town or a city nearby somewhere." He looked at Lucius, brows clenched in a frown. "Don't you know?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sure there is a town or a city nearby somewhere. If you'd point me in the direction of one, I'd be happy to take you there, even in my present shabby state of dress. But sadly, I have no idea. We could find one around the next tree but it would be entirely a matter of luck if we did."  
  
Potter looked past Lucius, eyes unfocused. "If we head south we should find water."  
  
"So you remember that, but not who you are? And which way is south, exactly?"  
  
"That way," Potter said, raising and arm and pointing. "I think. It's either north or south, but it feels like south." He shrugged. "I don't know how I know that. Maybe it's a guess, maybe this magic you keep talking about lets me be some sort of human compass. Maybe I read something about it somewhere. I don't know. But it's as good as anything, if all we have to go on is luck."  
  
And it turned out to be a fairly accurate guess, as well. Since it was as a good a direction as any to walk in, they turned south - or what Potter felt was south on some peculiar hunch - and within the hour they could hear the sound of moving water.  
  
Quite a lot of moving water, as it turned out. In the form of a fast-moving half-a-mile-wide river.  
  
Lucius stood on the banks, hands on hips, and glared. "Wonderful. Just wonderful. I was thinking a creek, a small pond perhaps. This is impossible. How do we cross this!"  
  
Potter was bending down to drink, the water cupped in his hands. "Too deep to wade, I guess we swim?"  
  
Lucius tucked his hands into his sleeves. "I _guess_ we look for somewhere to cross, like a bridge."

@~@~@~@

  
As Harry walked downstream, he contemplated memory and tried to fit things together, even without having actual facts.  
  
Little flashes of his past were returning to him; a face here, a voice there. Snatches of words, places, but higgeldy-piggeldy, unordered. And while their return was an indication that his mind might be healing, they didn't fit together in any coherent way. He still had no real idea of what was going on, and only had a stranger's word for who he was and what was happening to them.  
  
_Does a lack of memory need to mean I trust someone unreservedly? I don't think it should. I think trust is something earned and so far Malfoy hasn't done much in the way of affirmative action. He seems sort of selfish and sarcastic. Then again, maybe I like selfish and sarcastic._

@~@~@~@

  
Nothing like a bridge had appeared during the morning slog, and hunger was making Lucius increasingly irritable. He stopped, finally, around midday, fed up with the whole concept of walking through untrammeled wilderness in bare, torn feet.  
  
"This is ridiculous! Where are we, the moon! Why is there no bridge!"  
  
Harry slumped onto a fallen tree trunk, took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. "I'm guessing that's a rhetorical question. Having second thoughts about swimming across?"  
  
"I'm having second thoughts about you," Lucius snarled, pulling brambles from the dirty, tangled mess of his hair. "Not to mention third, fourth and twenty-fifth thoughts, all of them incorporating physical violence."  
  
Harry stood and removed his glasses, tucking them into his pocket. "Well, I've had enough of walking without being anywhere but here." Lucius watched him roll up his sleeves. "I'm swimming across. You can come or stay, it's up to you." And he turned and half-walked, half-slid down the muddy river bank.  
  
"Stop!"  
  
He was horrified at the rather panicky tone, and it made Harry pause at the bottom and look up and back. "What?"  
  
"I don't--"  
  
"Fine, if you don't want to, you can -"  
  
"I can't fucking-well swim, you idiot!" There, it was out, and he watched the surprised amusement flow across Potter's face. "Don't you dare laugh! There's nothing funny about it."  
  
Harry wiped one muddy hand across his mouth, smearing mud on his cheeks like a disguise. "Okay, not funny. But why didn't you ever learn?"  
  
"Oh gosh, let me think. Learning magic, forming a family, working for Voldemort, surviving the war, no, swimming not scheduled in there anywhere. Within the scale of things important in life, not too handy to me."  
  
"Certainly coming in handy now," Harry muttered, and Lucius was reminded of why he'd disliked the young man for so long.  
  
"Nobody likes a 'told you so', Potter!"  
  
"Hm, I'll bear it in mind. Well, the flow isn't too strong, I'll pull you across."  
  
Lucius didn't care for that idea at all. "Are you familiar with the fable of the scorpion and the frog? Stupid question, you wouldn't remember it anyhow. Let's just say, I'm nothing like a frog."  
  
Harry sat on a rock near the water, took off his shoes and tied the laces together. "No, don't get the reference, sorry. But trust me --"  
  
Lucius laughed abruptly. "I trust no-one."  
  
Harry hung the tied-together shoes around his neck and held out one hand, oddly patient. "Except me, surely. Remember, I'm your very, very good friend."  
  
Almost evenly balanced between doubt and fear, Lucius wavered. Stay there alone and probably die of starvation or be caught by the dark wizards who had to be somewhere close behind - or trust himself to a young man who might at any moment remember just who he was, and who he was dragging across a very wet, very deep river?  
  
Better the devil you know, he suddenly thought, and slid down the bank, grasping Harry's hand. It didn't seem all that logical a reason to put his life into Harry Potter's hands - literally. Yet, perhaps it was time to do a sort of Gryffindorish thing. And who would have imagined he would ever have considered that!  
  
He tied the loose ends of the robe around his hips, tore off a strip of the material to tie back his hair, and stepped into the water.


	2. Finding it

_Rivers are apparently something I don't know much about_ , Harry thought, as he struggled in the current. Near the bank it wasn't too bad, but as they got out into the centre and the water grew deeper, the speed increased. On his own he probably still wouldn't have had any problems, but with Lucius hanging onto him, he knew he was in trouble.  
  
Harry didn't particularly want to die in the river, but as the water dragged at him, pushing him down so that he had to fight to get them both back into the air, it was looking increasingly likely.  
  
The decision on what to do about it was taken away from him. A submerged log slammed into him; he yelled in pain and a moment later it had spun over him, dragging Lucius away and down into the depths of the river…

@~@~@~@

  
The impact of the log knocked the air from his lungs and when he gasped all he took in was water. Lucius flailed, disoriented, unable to tell which was up or down. There was no light, just swirling water pressing on him and he knew that no skill, no clever magic, no wishes or curses or wands would save him. His chest hurt, his lungs burned as they worked for air when there was none and the water flooded into him, agonising, choking and everything began to fade into darkness and his last thought was… _drowning…how ordinary…_  
  
…pain exploded him awake.  
  
Pain in his chest and he vomited water, hacking, groaning, gasping for air that finally made its way past his tight, swollen throat. Pain - blessed, living pain.  
  
The weight on his chest lessened. He opened his eyes and looked up, dazed.  
  
Harry was there, both hands on his bare chest and he tried to lift a hand to say, get off me, you oaf but he was so tired, all that came out was a croak and that made him cough again. He felt himself lifted and held him as he began to shiver almost convulsively, unable to stop, a teeth-chattering, bone-jarring shaking. He was so cold.  
  
"Try and relax. You almost drowned. I thought I'd lost you there for a few minutes."  
  
Lucius blinked, eyes finally focusing despite the chill. Potter was a wet wreck, muddy and soaking wet but holding him carefully, totally unconcerned about how close both of them must have come to death. He tried to talk, but his voice was lost in more coughing as the last of the water came up out of his lungs.  
  
No-one had ever saved him before. No-one had ever risked themselves for him. There had never been a hand there to pull him to safety, to hold him at those moments in his life when he needed it. No-one had cared enough.  
  
His wife and son loved him. At least, he thought they might. Yet he would never consider them as being there for him. It took a damaged young Gryffindor hero to do that.  
  
He struggled upright, pushing the supporting arms away. _I'm getting maudlin in my middle years. He wouldn't have saved you if he'd known who you are. Don't forget that, fool!_ "Thank you." He cleared his throat, wiping a streak of dirt from his face as he was reminded of how wet and cold he was. "I have to get some dry clothes. C-cold."  
  
Harry stood, helping him to his feet, and he wrapped the sodden robe around himself.  
  
"We both do. Can you walk?"  
  
"As far as I have to. Lead on."

@~@~@~@

  
Lucius had obviously been optimistic. They'd traveled no more than a mile up into the lightly wooded hills beside the river when he called for a stop. He was shivering and could barely talk. Cold and shock had obviously robbed the man of his last reserves of energy. He sank down beside a tree and wrapped his arms around himself, the picture of misery.  
  
Harry stood and took the glasses out of his pocket, wiping them clean as best he could, before putting him on. "I'm going to look for help. Maybe get some dry clothes, some food, someplace warm for us both, but especially you."  
  
Lucius stared up at him, unreadable. "Leaving me then?"  
  
"Just temporarily."  
  
Lucius sniffed in a disdainful way, let his drop to his arms crossed over bent knees. "Right. Understood."  
  
Harry wasn't sure what made him do it; the sight of defeat in the slumped shoulders, a peculiar sense of protectiveness, pity. Something had him hunching down in front of the older man, taking his chilled hands, holding them between his own rather cold and dirty ones. "Look at me." He waited patiently until Lucius looked up at him. "I will be back. I promise you."  
  
Lucius sniffed. "Care to make that an Unbreakable Vow?"  
  
"Sure, Unbreakable Vow it is. Believe me now?"  
  
The pale eyes widened, then narrowed. "It doesn't work if you don't - oh, whatever. Yes, I believe you. Now go and find help, and I'll sit here and slowly wither."

@~@~@~@

  
He must have fallen asleep or unconscious at some point, because the next thing Lucius knew he was waking up and it was somewhere else. He wasn't sitting hunched and shaking under a tree, he was lying in a bed, warm and dry and comfortable. It was dark outside the window but the light inside was mellow, from a lantern on a table beside the bed. He sighed, coughed and heard a rustle nearby.  
  
"Ah, you're awake. How do you feel?"  
  
Harry's face appeared above him, backlit in the lamplight. "Better. Not wet or cold. Where are we?"  
  
"A farmhouse. Luckily it wasn't far from the river, so I bargained for some help and the farmer carried you back in his van. Good thing, too, I couldn't carry you by myself. You're heavier than you look, I have to say."  
  
"I wouldn't know." One word finally penetrated further than the rest. "Bargained?" Lucius blinked and yawned, raised a hand to wipe his eyes. "What did you…" He froze, his left hand raised. "My ring. My ring is gone."  
  
Harry nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, sorry. I didn't have anything of my own or I'd have used that."  
  
Lucius continued to stare at his empty finger. "My ring. The Malfoy Ring. White gold, been in my family for five hundred years. Priceless." His eyes flickered up to Harry. "And you traded it to some farmers for lodging?!" He reached up and grabbed Potter by the shirt and pulled him down until their faces were almost touching and he was snarling with fury. "Get. It. BACK!"  
  
Harry grabbed his hand with both of his own, trying to prize himself away. "I'm sorry. It was that or let you die of exposure. I wasn't going to do that. It's just a bloody ring, is it worth your life!"  
  
He was too weary to argue, and a rising temper was interrupted by the divine smell of food. "Is that…soup?"  
  
Harry turned to a side table and collected a tray. "No, it's lamb stew, with bread and a cup of tea. Feel up to eating?"  
  
Lucius surged upright, temper forgotten. "Give it here!"  
  
After the first meal in two days hit his stomach, the world settled into a more comfortable balance. Yes, his ring was gone - at least for the moment - but he had food in his stomach, he was indoors, warm and comfortable. He though some cold-like ailment might be lurking somewhere in his future, but it was unimportant at that moment. Harry helped him up and into a nearby bathroom where he relieved himself, washed himself clean in a tub of warm water, and wrapped himself in a scrap of warm blanket before returning to the bedroom.  
  
He must have dozed because when he stirred again the lamp was lowered and someone was in the bed with him. Lucius turned on his side, puzzled, to see Harry lying beside him under the covers. It took a moment or two for the notion to penetrate.  
  
"Sorry," Harry muttered, moving a little closer to the wall, "but there was only one bed and it's too cold on the floor. Didn't think you'd mind since…"  
  
"Yes, yes, good friends. Come here." Lucius opened his arms and after a moment's hesitation, Harry slid closer. He was warm and uncertain but willing enough, and that combination was just what Lucius needed at that moment. He curled into the younger man, pressed his face to the bare skin at the base of Harry's throat, and drifted to sleep.

@~@~@~@

  
His dreams were confusing sets of images and faces, voices that made no sense, without pattern or meaning - until a face appeared that he recognised. Pale, arrogant, framed in long silver blonde hair, grey eyes disdainful. There was a familiarity that had nothing to do with friendship.  
  
_Harry Potter…_  
  
He felt velvet and silk under hand, warm and smooth as the eyes turned towards him glowing with intensity and purpose, the elegant features became smudged and tired and the image changed into someone he knew. The velvet under his hands moved and flowed, surrounding him, touching him and heat pooled in the middle of his body, spreading out and it felt so good, so very good.  
  
He woke to find his hand on Lucius' body where the arm and shoulder joined. Lucius was lying on his side, an arm draped over Harry's waist, one leg over Harry's and they were so close he could feel Lucius' sleeping breath with each rise and fall of the older man's chest. They were warm, lying beneath the old quilt, though the room was cold and condensation had streaked the window glass. The old farmhouse was quiet and the small fire had died down to a glow in the grate, but Harry was content and comfortable, lying in this stranger's arms, this familiar, difficult man that some part of him said to mistrust. Another part of him that was centred somewhere in the warmth between them pushed him to bend his head and kiss the smooth curve of shoulder and throat.  
  
Lucius stirred awake at the touch, eyes sliding open, focusing on Harry's face so close to him. He blinked, lips curling upwards. He bent forward just enough to bring their lips together.  
  
Harry didn't know if he was good at kissing but his response seemed to please Lucius, who gathered him even closer until they were pressed together all the way from shoulder to knee. With a small swing of his body, Lucius turned Harry onto his back, straddled his hips, and bent to lick at the little curve at this base of his throat. At the same time he moved his hips back and forth, stroking himself across Harry's groin, making the partial arousal that had built in his sleep explode to life. Hands rested on each shoulder, holding him down against the mattress; Lucius moved down, his back curving, long hair stroking across Harry's chest.  
  
And then sharp teeth latched onto a nipple, bit down, and a sharp sizzle of pain arced through Harry, as if he'd been shocked. But it was an exquisite pain, perfect, cutting through him, disconnecting reason. He hissed, hands balling into fists, and arched his back, pressing himself even closer to the man riding him.  
  
Again, the hard little play of teeth, the stroke of a tongue, the suction of a hot mouth as Lucius suckled on the sensitized flesh. He repeated it, bit down again, made a soft, humming sound as Harry whimpered, sobbed in a breath, and one hand moved from Harry's shoulder to fondle the other nipple, pinch it and roll it between his fingers so that twin waves of pain and pleasure rippled back and forth between them.  
  
He couldn't know if he'd ever experienced such arousal before, such a need to push, to thrust, to be held and enfolded. There was no place for comparison, only the feel of every inch of skin prickling with energy, of wanting to reach some peak of release but unable too, held in place by the weight of Lucius' body pressing him down.  
  
And then the hand slid down from his chest, and he was being held and pumped, squeezed and stroked, and he thrust a fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming as he came, pulsing hot waves of semen onto himself and over Lucius' hand.  
  
Lucius took one last lick of the bruised nipple and moved his lips up to Harry's face. "I can stop now, if you want me too. Or I can go on, but you need to tell me, Harry. Tell me you want me to go on."  
  
All he could was lie limply and nod his agreement, as the last ripples of orgasm flushed through him. Lucius shifted slightly, smeared Harry's come across his own erect cock, then bent Harry's legs, told him to hold himself open, and Harry wrapped his hands behind his knees, spreading his legs wide. A wet finger slid into his arse. He forced himself to relax as the finger probed and moved, stretching him, and then there was a second, opening him wider. All the while Lucius watched him, features serene, his other hand absently stroking Harry's thigh. A third finger stretched him open; it hurt a little and he winced, but the fingers moved within him until the muscles eased and Lucius whispered, "You have a wonderful arse, you're made for this. A little more practice at it and I could fist you, put my whole hand in, stroke you from the inside. Would you like me to do that one day, Harry, like to feel my fingers touch you deep inside your body?"  
  
He'd been losing his arousal but it stirred again at that, at the image of Lucius' hand planted inside him stroking him, buried to the wrist. As he lay there, balanced on his lower back, the muscles of arms and legs twitching from the need to hold himself open and still, he felt Lucius' fingers slip out and hold him open. He watched, breathless, never taking his eyes from Lucius' face, watching the faint sheen of perspiration gather there as Lucius placed Harry's legs around his waist and slowly moved inside.  
  
The fingers had been an exploration, an introduction of flesh within flesh, but the feel of Lucius' cock parting him was something else. It was hard and hot, an inexorable movement that he could feel as pressure going deeper and deeper. He realised he was panting, sweat running down into his eyes but he couldn't move to wipe it away. His hands wavered and Lucius took them, linked their fingers together, and then Harry felt the soft pressure of Lucius' balls resting against him. He was all the way in and for a moment Lucius paused, licked his lips, then pulled out almost all the way, only to push back in again. In a moment he was rocking in and out, pace increasing until by some serendipitous chance it matched the beat of Harry's heart. Lucius twisted his hips; his cock struck something deep inside Harry that sent ripples of pleasure across his lower body and he moaned, arched backwards, fingers gripping. Lucius' pace increased until he was slapping against Harry's arse, grunting with each thrust. The sound of sex was moist and flat, echoed by Harry's increasing moans as the pleasure peaked with each deep thrust.  
  
Excited beyond control, Harry orgasmed again, and he groaned, his seed spilling out across his stomach and onto Lucius. A few moments later, Lucius gave one final violent thrust, stiffened, arched his back and came with a low, shuddering moan.  
  
They lay together in the aftermath of sex, and Harry sensed that whatever they had been before, whether it had been lovers or friends or strangers or enemies, nothing would ever be the same again. And despite being sticky and sweaty, despite that uncertainty of what would happen when he finally knew everything about himself again, in that moment he was content to slide into sleep in a lover's arms.

@~@~@~@

  
Lucius woke with a bad taste in his mouth, hair tickling his nose and the feel of a solid, warm body lying against him. It took a few moments for memory to kick in and then he smiled. After all, it wasn't every day you woke up next to Harry Potter, with whom you'd had a night of fairly torrid and extremely pleasant sex.  
  
Harry slept like the child he no longer was; on his back, hair ruffled, mouth open, snoring. Not very elegant, but then he was naked beneath the blankets and Lucius slid his hand under them and across Harry's stomach, luxuriating in being able to touch and possess something no other wizard ever had. He wasn't certain, of course - it was possible Potter had slept with another man at some stage, but he sensed not. Whether it was pleasant fantasy or foolishness, he let himself luxuriate in the notion of having been the first.  
  
Outside the grimy window, the world was turning misty grey with the early dawn. There was movement from below, the sound of pots and pans - a farmer's life, it seemed, was an early-rising one. He was considering whether he should get up and go in search of breakfast when Harry stirred, opened his eyes and focused on Lucius who was lying with his head propped on his hand.  
  
"'Morning."  
  
"Yes it is. I'd kiss you, but I wouldn't put this mouth on anyone right now." He sniffed, and screwed up his nose. "Both of us badly need a bath. Do you think our host could be convinced to supply hot water?"  
  
"I think so." Harry yawned and stretched. "I'll go find out, check out the breakfast situation and some clean clothes, too." He sat up and grabbed his pants from where they'd been tossed onto the floor. "These smell pretty bad, and your robe has probably walked off by itself looking for a decent burial."  
  
It seemed they'd made some unspoken pact not to mention the night before, but Lucius promised himself that it would be mentioned again, and repeated again, if he had anything to say about it. There were just too many ways he wanted to take Harry, and too many things he wanted to teach him.  
  
Hot water was duly provided in the bathroom down the hall, and Lucius took the first turn, delighting in the feel of clean skin and hair. He wrapped the towel provided around his hips and was tucking into the breakfast of eggs, cereal and toast with tea by the time Harry had finished his own bath. They ate breakfast together in bed, and Lucius found the whole domestic situation rather pleasant, in a muggle-ish sort of way.  
  
Harry took the dirty dishes and tray downstairs to the kitchen and return a few minutes later with a bundle of clothing, and a rather dubious look on his face.  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
"Well," Harry said, laying the bundle of fabric on the bed, "they didn't have a lot of clothes to spare. This could be sort of interesting, depending on how you look at it." He dug out two items, one red and the other brown, and handed them to Lucius. 'These are for you."  
  
Lucius held them up between finger and thumb. "And they are?"  
  
"They belong to the farmer's son, he went off to the city and these got left behind. They might be a little small, but they should fit you. At least until we can get to a town.. Try them on."  
  
A few minutes later, he stood before the mirror in the bedroom, hands on hips, and glared at his reflection. "You cannot be serious."  
  
The brown trousers were at least a size too small, and came halfway up his shins. The red top, some sort of short-sleeved shirt, had a half row of buttons down the front and was so short it wouldn't even tuck into the trousers. "This is...I look like…you cannot be serious!!"  
  
Harry appeared behind him, and cleared his throat, his reflected features flushed pink. "Well, look, it's…not too bad…"  
  
And then he coughed, and began to laugh, staggering sideways and falling onto the bed. Lucius watched him, aggrieved, and then the stupidity of the situation hit him and he chuckled. The chuckle grew to a laugh as he looked back at the impossibly silly image of Lucius Malfoy, best dressed wizard in Britain, wearing ill-fitting muggle hand-me-downs. "I know," he said, wiping his eyes, "if anyone asks, it's a clever tactic; make your enemy laugh so hard, they hurt themselves and save you the trouble."  
  
Harry's own clothing was partly useable; his shirt had been washed and hung in front of the fire and was dry enough to wear, while he'd been provided with a pair of shorts that fitted very snugly. Not that Lucius minded that too much, a neat arse in tight pants was nothing to be sneered at. A pair of boots that fitted surprisingly well finished off Lucius' attire, and with some extra supplies, a map and a wave from the farmer and his wife, they were on they way towards the nearby village, and from there to the road that would take them into Menaggio.  
  
It was surprisingly pleasant on the road that morning, and Lucius didn't really understand why. He should be sick of the traveling, annoyed at the foolish clothing, bored with the company, anxious to be gone. Yet there was an odd sense of companionship walking alongside Harry, discussing the plans for the day, stopping now and then to rest, and even taking time to admire the land around them. It was beautiful country, lush meadows and mountains in the distance and the day was fine and warm after the cold night. In those hours he felt somehow free, without the need to be other than he was, doing other than he was. There were no schemes that needed to be arranged, no-one to trick or manipulate or destroy. There was just the road and the day and the young man walking beside him, companion and lover who smiled at him without any shadow of hatred or fear. Perhaps it was the charm of the unique situation, but whatever it was, he decided not to look at it too closely, and just enjoy it.  
  
Towards noon the road took them into a stretch of heavily wooded forest and the day became cooler and more shadowed as the road turned and the open country was left behind. They were about to stop for lunch when there was sudden crashing from above and Lucius looked up to see half a dozen figures slicing down through the trees on broomsticks.  
  
He knew in an instant who it was, and that his idyllic time was over. With hardly a moment to think he grabbed Harry, threw him down, tore the wand from his pocket and held it out, with his other arm outwards, palms up.  
  
The first dark wizard hid the ground running, wand raised. Lucius held up both hands. "Wait! Before you attack, listen to me."  
  
The man tossed the hood of his cape off his head and bent low, wand arm stretched out before him. "Give me one good reason why we shouldn't kill you where you stand, Malfoy!"  
  
Lucius planted his booted foot on Harry's back and held him down, ignoring his struggles to rise. "Because I think Lord Sillangus might be rather more interested in thanking me than killing me."  
  
"Make sense, and do it fast."  
  
"Don't you think," Lucius said, striving for calm, "that your Lord might just be grateful to get his hands on the man responsible for the death of Lord Voldemort?"  
  
The other dark wizards froze, and looked to their leader, who'd straightened, eyes wide in his pale face. "You mean…"  
  
"Yes. Say hullo to Harry Potter."  
  
They'd acted fairly fast after that. They'd knocked Harry unconscious and apparated out of the woods, taking Lucius with them. In moments Lucius and Harry were back where it had all started days before, in the still-damaged castle being used as a headquarters by Sillangus. And when he found out who it was they'd carried back with them, his delight had been just about what Lucius had expected. It gave him the time to set out his own tale of kidnap and deception.  
  
"Of course I knew who he was, my Lord," Lucius said, as the henchmen tied Harry up onto beams set into the stone walls. "I knew how important it was to get him back to you, and I persuaded him to take me with him. He's such a gullible fool, these Gryffindors are so naive."  
  
Still fuzzy from the effects of the spell, Harry focused on Lucius' voice, and he twisted against the ropes and chains holding him. "What's happening, Lucius, I can't…."  
  
And then he screamed, as Sillangus raised his wand and sent the Cruciatus thundering into his body. It went on and on as he writhed and jerked, screaming until his voice broke, flailing until blood ran from his wrists and ankles where the bindings cut into his flesh. Sillangus sighed with pleasure at the sight and paused, walked forward and ran his finger through the trail of it where it ran down Harry's arm. He didn't speak, made no threats, simply marked his own sunken cheeks with the blood, then turned and called down the curse again, never seeming to tire of the sight of Harry's agony until, in one enormous wrenching movement , Harry's body convulsed; his head struck the wall with a sickening thud and he passed out.  
  
They provided clothing to Lucius suitable to his station; black trousers, a white shirt, a black jacket, even returned his cane to him, and he felt almost normal. Almost. Except that, sitting on a window seat in a room in the castle tower, holding the ugly muggle clothing in his hand, he kept remembering moments.  
  
_Expecting death in the water, and coming awake to find Potter pushing life back into his body…warmth in a simple bed, the pleasure they'd shared, body to body…Harry, sleeping like a child beside him, and breakfast in bed together…the sight of himself in that ridiculous clothing as they laughed and laughed…walking down the country road in the sunshine, feeling more alive than he ever had in his manor back home…Harry screaming and screaming on the wall, looking at him, not understanding why, helpless, agonised…_  
  
He clutched the cloth to himself, ground his teeth together, naming himself seven kinds of fool. Was this guilt? He'd never felt it before, he had nothing to compare it with. In that way he was like Harry, a new person drawn out of the old, finding things in himself he'd never known were there. A surprising sense of the ridiculous, an appreciation of simpler pleasures, a sense of peace. Also, apparently, a conscience, something he'd managed to do without his whole life.  
  
Lucius swore, stood, dropped the clothing to the floor, drew his truer self around him like a cloak and tucked those other feelings away. There wasn't time for them, there and then, he needed to be thinking clearly,and emotion clouded thinking.  
  
It was late afternoon as he made his way with purpose through the castle. Each room he passed he catalogued, placing it on the mental map he was making, checking off people and locations. He kept a tally of how many there were, where they were, who they were. Power liked height, it seemed; Sillangus' rooms were at the top of the tower and his lieutenants beneath, in descending order, with the work room, storerooms, kitchens and lesser wizards towards ground level. The room where Harry was kept was in a wing at ground level, with guards stationed around it but apart from the general accommodations. He waited until the evening meal was being served to make his final approach, striding down the long corridor, cane in one hand, his borrowed cloak flaring out behind him.  
  
The two wizards on guard at the door straightened at his approach and he flicked a finger at the door. "Open it."  
  
"The Lord said you weren't to enter."  
  
"I think you'll find his orders have changed. He'll be here shortly and I'm to ensure Potter's aware enough for further…handling." And he smiled, unobtrusively turning the head of his cane.  
  
As the two wizards exchanged uncertain looks, Lucius sensed they'd refuse, too afraid to question their orders. He sighed. "Fine, I'll go and get written permission," and he moved as if to leave, twisted the wand from the cane in a flow of movement as he turned in a circle. Before they could raise their own wands, Lucius stupefied them both. He dragged both to a storage room, dumped them inside, and magicked the door lock.  
  
When he entered, the two inside guards were distracted. One was leaning against the wall near Potter, laughing, the while second stood in front of their prisoner, and it took Lucius a moment to realise what he was doing.  
  
The guard was standing with his trousers open, pissing on Harry's back. Harry's clothing was already filthy with blood and urine, and he hung limply in the chains, face lying in bruised profile against the dirty stone.  
  
Rage flowered in Lucius, a sudden blossom of anger in his middle that had no logical cause, it was just there and whatever clever plan he'd made went straight out the window. He strode forward, wand in one hand, cane in the other.  
  
"Enjoying yourselves?"  
  
The two wizards straightened, and the one in front of Harry zipped himself as he turned. "Yeah, the Lord said we could have a little fun, long as we didn't kill him. Marcus here plans to do a bit of exploring of Potter's arse with his wand - and I don't mean his willow-and-cockatrice feather wand, neither. Want to have a go yourself, Malfoy?"  
  
"Oh, not right now, I'm rather busy," he said, and his wand flickered from side to side in a noisy, explosive wash of power that turned both dark wizards into smoking corpses. He stepped over their bodies and reached up to undo the binding around Harry's wrists. As he did, Harry's eyes opened; he looked across at Lucius and those eyes were blazing.  
  
"Don't touch me, Malfoy, you bastard!"  
  
The tone, the expression, were unmistakable... Harry - no, not Harry, Potter, the man who despised him - had returned. His Harry was gone.  
  
He paused, hand raised, as a sudden pain gripped his heart. "Ah, back with us, Mr Potter. Could we save the insults till later, or would you rather I left you here to Sillangus' tender mercies?"  
  
Once the binding was released Harry staggered, almost fell, but shrugged off Lucius' supporting hand. Red-eyed, bruised and exhausted, Harry wiped his mouth and gave the dead wizards only a brief glance before heading at a painful shuffle for the door.  
  
"You might want to consider where you're going. I suspect my rather noisy attack will have the others here in a short time."  
  
Harry stopped and turned, wavering. "Well?"  
  
Lucius walked up to Harry, hardening his heart, telling the unexpected anxious voice in his head to shut up. "We can't apparate out of here, this area of the castle is blocked. We need to get beyond the wall, and then we can leave."  
  
"Fine." Harry pointed at the wall. "Then get beyond the wall. You've got the wand - use it!"  
  
"Point taken." Lucius swung around towards the outer wall, swirled his wand, gathered his will, and said, "Confringo!" The spell erupted from his wand and exploded a section of the wall outwards in a wave of shattered stone. "Well, if they didn't know something was going on before, they do now. After you!"  
  
Harry clambered over the broken wall, stumbling outwards and Lucius followed, trying to watch Harry and search for threat at the same time. He caught a movement from the corner of his eye at a shattered window above their exit point; the figure leaned out, he caught the sound of the spell:  
  
"…empra!"  
  
He sensed the spell's flight, heading for Harry's head and Lucius flung himself forward between Harry and the spell, pushing him aside, feeling the slicing agony of the magic tear across his shoulder, chest and cheek as he twisted and fell. He hurled the Killing Curse upwards, saw it smash against the window in a shower of green and then he and Harry were rolling down the hill in a reenactment of the time, days before, when they'd set off on their adventure.  
  
As the pain threatened to block out all thought, he grabbed hold of Harry, concentrated on St Mungos, and Side-Apparated them both away.

@~@~@~@

  
The head injury turned out to be the least trying of Harry's concerns over the following weeks, although it was basis for a lot of contemplation. Lying in bed recovering in St Mungos, he had very little else to do but sleep and eat, and think.  
  
His memory of events was rather like a patchwork quilt, sewn together by the feelings and thoughts of someone else, a stranger Harry. He could remember most of what had happened to him after the first attack in a disjointed fashion. Some of it was intense and some just strange. And the strangest of all was way he felt about Lucius Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy was in a room a few doors down the corridor, recovering from the effects of a Sectusempra strike. The mediwitches had kept Harry informed of Lucius' condition and recovery. Snape had created a typically Slytherin magic with that one, that continued to cause grief even after it had done its initial hurt.  
  
One thing Harry remembered very clearly of that last day was being pushed aside, of Malfoy taking the strike for him. No amount of twisting the facts around to try and find a more reasonable Malfoy-ish angle could change that. The man who'd hated him since he was twelve had stepped in the way of danger for him. But why??  
  
The act of saving Harry had generated a pardon for Lucius, though he'd be confined to the area around his home for some time after he recovered. Harry hadn't mentioned to anyone at the Ministry that final Unforgivable. The only people who might remember it other than the two of them were either in Azkaban or dead, the Aurors had seen to that. In the greater scheme of things one Unforgivable was, well, forgivable.  
  
Finally, when he was strong enough to move without magical aid, Harry pulled on a robe and went for a walk. The corridors were muffled and quiet in the cool evening, lit here and there by lanterns. He stopped at the right door, hesitated, then pushed the door open.  
  
A single bed lay under a window along with a bedside table bearing a jug of water, a book, reading glasses and a lantern aglow with muted golden light. In the bed, beneath the white blanket, Malfoy was asleep. His head was turned towards the window, hair splayed out across the pillow in a wash of silver and gold.  
  
_The last time you - that other you - saw him sleeping, you were in bed with him. And you'd just spent the night having sex with him. Fantastic, fulfilling, exciting sex. Or do you call it making love when you don't remember to hate?_  
  
He walked to the bed, bare feet silent on the tiles, and stood looking down. When Lucius turned in his sleep something twisted inside Harry, breaking the odium and dissolving it into his blood, so that both parts of him fitted into an accepting whole.  
  
The scars went from chin to ear across the left side of his face, still puckered and red, and Harry knew they would never entirely disappear. The pale skin was ruined, the balance of perfection marred.  
  
Lucius took a deeper breath, his eyelids fluttered, and then he was awake, looking up into Harry's face.  
  
He didn't move, didn't flinch, his expression remained serene. "Is it very ugly?"  
  
"The truth?"  
  
A small smile tipped up the corner of his unmarked cheek. "I think we should practice that, you and I."  
  
"OK, then it's ugly."  
  
He saw the pain flare in Lucius' eyes and he started to turn away, and Harry reached out to stop him, catching his chin in one palm. "No, I said it's ugly, not you're ugly. You were the most flawlessly beautiful man I ever saw before, now you're just almost flawless. That's still pretty high on the scale, as things go. Now, move over, I'm getting into bed."  
  
Lucius slid across automatically, still watching Harry but puzzled now. "It's...not a very big bed."  
  
"That's alright, I'm not all that big, sadly. Never did grow to my dad's height." He grinned as he turned into Lucius' side. "Must be the muggle in me."  
  
Pressed with his back to the wall, Lucius reached out one hand to Harry, and had it grasped at once. "Are you staying, then?"  
  
He didn't have to say where, and Harry snuggled closer. "Depends. You going to be good?"  
  
Brief laughter vibrated through Lucius' chest. "I'm always good, young man. Good at winning, at being cunning, clever, devious and, oh yes, very good at sex. But as for the rest.." A finger tipped Harry's chin up, and he looked into grey eyes that were intent and serious. "I'm still Lucius Malfoy. I've been scarred, and other things have changed where you're concerned, but I am, and always will be, me."  
  
"Pretty well the way I like it. Still, if I can get bumped on the head and forget who I am and you can spend some time with me and have some of that hero stuff rub off on you, who knows what will happen in the future? You might find you get used to being good in other ways, too."  
  
"Oh, enough talk, I think," Lucius said, and pulled Harry to him, taking his mouth in a kiss that swallowed thought and logic and everything, until whatever else Harry had been going to say was just a memory.  
  



End file.
